A Traitor Among Us All
by Spiffswishy
Summary: Charlotte Smith comes with Sarah Phillips to Boston and has amnesia. She's welcomed in with Ben Franklin's colleagues. But once she begins to truly become an American and fall in love, she remembers who she really is. And what she was sent to do. JamesxOC
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Boston Tea Party

I smelled fish. Like _a lot _of fish. I gagged on the putrid smell and quickly sat up in bed, or what was the excuse for the bed. I was on a tiny hammock on the far side of the room. A solitary lantern hung on the ceiling and a desk was across from me. I sat up and tried to control my stomach. I teeter-tottered across the room and reached out to right myself on the desk. Quickly I realized it wasn't my stomach or head causing the nausea. The room was _moving._ I was on a ship!

I put my hand on my temples and tried to right my mind as well but, I couldn't. Everything was fuzzy. What was my name...? _Good God, what was my name? _I put both hands on the desk to steady myself but they recoiled, sticky with black ink. The lines on my palms bled like spider's webs' and I peered to see what parchment I had tampered with. The words were now, very blurry, but I could make out the conclusion.

_The captain says we will stay in Boston Harbor for the time being. No one was expecting the storm to throw us off course. I do hope Mr. Franklin sent words for someone to get me. I do not wish to get lost here in the colonies. I just wish to see you again. I will see if I can get someone to take me to see you._

_Your loving daughter,_

_Sarah_

Was that my name? Sarah? It didn't feel right. Besides my father was…

"Charlotte? Charlotte!" A redheaded girl in a blue dress burst into my thoughts. "Charlotte, quick, grab for me my pillow from over there! Indians have boarded the ship!" My heart beat faster, but not from fear of attack. I suddenly remembered. _I _was Charlotte and this was Sarah Phillips. We left London together, headed for the American Colonies. She was to meet her father and I...I was to…I moaned as the headache began again.

"Charlotte, the pillow." I stumbled over and grabbed my pillow from the cot. She loaded her books into it, glancing at me from the corner of her eye. "Are you all right Charlotte? That fall yesterday didn't affect you, did it?"

"What fall?" She cocked her head but I shushed her as shouts echoed from the floor above. Shouts rained down like the voice of angry angels.

"The tea, only the tea!"

"Throw it overboard!"

"That doesn't sound like Indians." I whispered.

"Shh!" More thumps radiated above until we heard footsteps come into our hatchway. Sarah and I pressed ourselves tightly against the wall as a man, no a boy, entered our room. Sarah raised the pillow, "Wait!" I whispered.

"You will not take me alive!" She cried and brought the weight down upon his head. He fell back onto the floor and I scooped up his candle, laying it on the desk. Best not to burn the ship down after all.

"What are you talking about?" he said, rubbing his head. He looked to be about our age, with pale skin and writer's garb. His blond hair was now mussed and pieces of it had fallen out of his ponytail.

"Sarah, he's not an Indian."

"Obviously." He said, as he took a notepad from his pocket. "I'm a journalist. Now, what do you have to say about the unfair taxation in the colonies?"

"Is that what this is about?" As Sarah argued with the newsboy, a wave of nausea swept over me. As the boat rocket again, I tripped over my dress and almost fell to the floor, had he not grabbed my arm.

"Are you ok? I've heard of English girls fainting at everything but really, you're safe here. They're after the tea."

"I'm fine." I whispered and steadied myself.

"She hit her head yesterday." Sarah said with concern. "There was an awful storm."

"Well, what're your names then? This will be perfect for the Gazette."

"It's Sarah. Sarah Phillips of London, England. This is Miss Charlotte Smith." Both my head and the newsboys head jerked upward. Smith? My last name was not Smith. I was Charlotte Louise Frederick. I could remember that much. As for the newsboy…

"Sarah…Sarah Phillips? I'm James Hiller. My friends and I are here to bring you to Philadelphia. Benjamin Franklin sent me."

"He sent you?" The door banged open and two others came in. There was a tall, strong-looking African and a small French boy.

"James, take Mrs. Phillips. We have got to go, redcoats are on their way!" As quickly as they had come, they disappeared and ran back on deck.

"Come on, Mrs. Phillips. I don't like to use force but I'd rather not end up in jail." With that, James took Sarah's wrists and began to force her, kicking and screaming, on deck.

"Charlotte!"

"Coming!" I shouted and followed them.

The deck was a mess. Tea and wreckage were scattered everywhere. I saw Sarah, struggling in James' arms, and I ran over to them. A British soldier came at them but James tripped him, sending the man overboard! I followed, making it off the plank but couldn't catch up to them. I kicked off my shoes and continued to run, faster, faster. The harbor breeze picked up my hair and-

"Get down." A man pulled me behind some barrels and I saw it was the African man.

"Help!" Sarah tried to yell.

"What are you doing?" I hissed. "We just ran away from a plundered British ship. For all those soldiers know, we're colonists."

"Exactly." The African looked me in the eye. "I don't know who you are but you're welcome to stay with us. At least until morning." I nodded. "Now come on. The wagon isn't far away and I know a spot we can stay for the night." We all began to run in the shadows. My feet persisted as they hit every rock and splinter on the way. Unfortunately a particularly large and painful pothole caused me to bump into the French boy.

"Hey!"

"Sorry." I whispered. However, the kid continued to look at me.

"Are you ok?"

"I'm fine."

"Moses!" he called the African over.

"What Anrí?"

"MOSES, SHE DOES NOT LOOK SO GOOD."

"You are very pale Miss-"

"Smith." I said, not sure why I was using the fake name. "Charlotte Smith."

"Well Miss Smith, if someone is supposed to pick you up, we can deliver you to them. Who are you meeting with?"

"I-I don't-"I whimpered as another painful headache overcame me.

"James, Sarah!" Moses called. I sat on the gravel and clutched my head. Things got blurry as I tried to remember.

"Charlotte, Charlotte!" Sarah's voice then…nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Sleeping Beauty in a Barn

A bright light burned against the backs of my eyelids. I pried them open solely, while sitting up in bed…or what was my bed. I sneezed as some sort of filament wafted through my nose. As my vision focused I realized I had been sleeping in a hay loft. The straw poked at me through my petticoats and stuck itself in my hair. I noticed a ladder nearby and crawled over to it, looking out into the room.

I was in someone's barn. The ladder led down to the floor where a couple of tables had been set up. I saw Sarah scribbling away on a piece of parchment while the young boys from the other night were brushing a brown mare. I carefully slipped one foot onto the ladder and climbed down. The blond boy was the first to notice me.

"Sleeping Beauty is awake." He said, smiling mischievously as he turned away from his chore. He wiped his hands on a dirty piece of cloth before walking over to me.

"Hello." I said quietly, noticing Sarah turn around and catch my. She smiled, relieved, at me before glaring in the boy's direction. I cleared my throat. "I'm afraid I am a tad confused. How did I-"

"-get here?" The boy answered for me in his American accent. "You fainted after the Tea Party. We brought you here to rest."

"But where is here?" I asked.

"Boston, Massachusetts." The night before brought itself to my attention and I remembered the ruckus on the ship.

"Are you feeling better Charlotte?" Sarah asked me, concerned. While I certainly was not "all right", I nodded anyway, not wishing to make a fuss and frankly too scared about the situation to speak.

"How did I get in the hay?" was my second question.

"I carried you of course Miss Brit," The boy winked at me rudely. "You could do well to lose a few pounds; it wasn't easy bringing you up there."

"James!" Sarah gasped. "That is no way to treat a lady!"

"Indeed James." I noticed the African enter with another woman by his side. "I expect more from you. She is our guest."

The boy flushed and he muttered an apology.

"Oh, it is quite all right." I said quickly, curtsying to the boy. "My name is Charlotte Louise…Smith." I caught myself at the last minute. I still had the idea in my head that I was not to tell anyone my real name. Why, I did not know, but the feeling was strong. "I am grateful that you were able to put such tiny muscles into use to carry me all the way to the loft. Thank you." This time the boy smiled at me discreetly and Sarah gaped. Still I received some laughter from the French boy who now emerged from behind the horse.

"Good one!"

"Oh, shut up Henri." The blond boy looked at me warily before reluctantly bowing. "I'm James Hiller, Journalist for Benjamin Franklin. Pleased to meet you."

I smiled and offered my hand for James to shake. His eyes widened and we shook. "Pleased to meet you, James."

"My name is Moses." The African said as he entered the room. "That," he motioned to the French boy, "is Henri and this is our host Miss Wheatley." The African woman beside him smiled and shook my hand delicately.

"Wheatley as in Phillis Wheatley?"

She looked at e surprised. "The very same."

"Oh I love your poems!" I clasped my hands together. "I loved Poems on Various Subjects, Religious and Moral. You have so much talent!" The boys looked at me in shock.

"What?" I said.

"My poems were just published this year; I'm surprised they're popular in Britain already."

"My friends and I loved them in England!" I smiled. "Sarah, haven't you a copy?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Oh." A headache rippled through my mind and I gasped. My knees buckled but Moses put an arm under me and helped me sit by Sarah at her table.

"You've not been well Miss Smith, but you don't have a fever. Is there anything we could get you?"

I thought for a moment. "Well I am rather parched and hungry." I rubbed my temples. "Please Moses do call me Charlotte."

Miss Wheatley left to get me some nourishment, and Henri and James jabbered something about British soldiers arriving at port. Sarah and Moses stayed with me, monitoring the situation.

"You told me last night that she hit her head the day before?"

Sarah nodded. "She slept for a couple of days. I didn't think much of it at the time. One is lucky to sleep for days on a sea voyage." She nervously twirled some of her bright red hair in her ink-stained fingers.

"She could have a concussion." Moses turned to me. "Who is it you're supposed to meet in the colonies. If you can remember, we will send a letter out right away to bring them to Boston.

"To be honest, I can't remember." I bit my lip. "I-I don't remember anything, it's the strangest sensation. I can tell you what our boat looked like, but not the name. I can tell you I read Miss Wheatley's poems but not when or where." I winced and ran my fingers through my messy hair until I found the small bump at the base of my skull. It was tender, sore and painful to probing. "I can't remember much of London, besides telling you I lived there." Panic rose inside of me. "My family…I can't tell you what my parent's names are. Much less whom I am supposed to meet in the colonies." I turned to Sarah. "You must know. I must have told you."

Her face was pale and she shook her head. "Charlotte this is the most I've heard you speak. You were very," she thought of the right word, "very reserved on the ship."

Moses now had stood up and was pacing back and forth.

"Moses?"

"I'm no doctor Miss Smith, but even I know the difference. To forget everything…Miss Smith," he turned to me, "I believe you have post-traumatic amnesia."

XX: For those of you who have read my Avatar fanfic, you know I love using amnesia. A case of mistaken identity is so much fun to write about! Plus did anyone see the sparks between her and James...? I sure did!


End file.
